Astarte's Rapture
by Astarte's Rapture
Summary: . . . when one digs deep enough . . . they reach Hell . . . a series of spiritual resurrection
1. The Worth of a Name

Warning: This will be a poetic series based upon MY own experience . . . who I was . . . who I became . . . who I am now . . .and where spirituality played in each . . .**_

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_**

**_Astarte's Rapture_**

-

Preach silently – m' dear

Lest thy chords discover downy pillows - a smothering noose

Within this realm of feathery mortality

Speak thee as hell's **whispering** ghosts

Of all that thee witness . . .

Within my dominion beneath – so far beneath your comprehensions –

(Deep

Deep

Deep)

Beneath the gopher burrows -

The earthy scum crust – with embedded rose thorns

Of a fool's spiny skeleton!

-

Purgatory is lax – m' dear

When scaled in equality – its own quill and Bordeaux ink constitution

To this thy long fated abode

(A Frozen wasteland of bacteria's

Sinew sculptures of pocket lint

Within corroded eye sockets)

Admiration rests in vile peace

Within the irises of death's beholder

And he is a fine lover . . .

-

The maggots scathe the flesh – m' dear

With their mucous bestowed by Beelzebub

(Rotting

Stinking

Putrid saliva dripping in ringlets upon freckled skin)

Ashen grey it crinkles fingertips

Molding nails into frothy spirals of wormwood

Spread as the burnt limber trunk's roots

Whose smoldering is stunningly gratifying

As a lover's lustful climax – so temporary in pleasure

That it deftly subsides to blunt arches

-

What realm dost though stand– m' dear?

This my paradise of defecation's bones

Their faces – greened with moss – with cockroaches – black

Sunken, swollen, bloated, peeled . . .

(So archaically beautiful . . .)

My companions of entombed humanity

Hum in droning moans

Words not uttered by lips and pinky muscles

Playing as symphony's finale unto me

Low grunts of tenors and sopranos – royal beauty – so befitting

-

Chant my title – m' dear

(Astarte)

(Astarte)

(Astarte)

Queen of the dead's host (those lingering open-lipped sheets of Hallows Eve)

-the damned witch warden of Gehenna

-

Life is far more gratifying – once the soul is buried

(Six feet under hell . . .)


	2. Vision of Worms

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Bible.

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Job 5:6: "how much less man, who is but a maggot - a son of man, who is only a worm!" _

_Mark 9: 47c-48: hell, where" 'their worm does not die,and the fire is not quenched.'_

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**Astarte's Rapture: A Vision of Worms**

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When does one naively wonder (dream – fantasize - envisage)

What the existence of a worm is worth in golden pounds of mire

As it wriggles and coils about within its own filth? – soso pathetic

(as it shrivels in the prisms of sunlight – it must dig deeper – faster!)

Far deeper than a layer of the Earth's nakedly scant clothing

Beneath the core, until the burning is not from the firmament

(No, it is birthed in labor pains of a virgin from the break . . .

The shattering of glass oracles . . . the tear of lustful cards of selfish desires . . .)

And one must wake from the hallucination (and see that it IS the writhing worm)

The writhing worms upon my pale palms . . . they kiss me passionately . . .

-

(Fools to be blind as a mole not to see their rotted rosemary chains

And they shriek in desire of a master; And they moan in agony of the whip)

All. At. Once. (Unison) So exquisite . . . to see worms succumb to their own despair

-

Death . . . to expire . . . to fade-fall-farfarfar Southeast

Into the raven screeching veins of a sinister Morning Star

(and the black blood shrivels within his body as he grins hellish toothed grins,

like a double-edged sword – a fox before the snared jackrabbit –

comforting the carnage ripped creature with eulogy memoirs coated in hunger pains!)

And the deardeardear Son of Sheol's sunrise kisses my pallid shoulder blades

Whilst hushing unto my ear the promised lies of glee and pleasure -but-

Never a whimper of their temporary freedom from the gloom of the silky worms

As they moan about my body their eternal fiery woes and solicits of a mirthful glimpse

Of the shared yearn for pearly gates within this damned vision of our chosen nightmare

-

And they twirl about by fingers as creatures upon amusing displays of power

(But whilst they moan their frail mortal woes with swollen tongues past redemption,

My concave pupils, long blinded in sorrow, glance towards the whispered Northern land)


	3. an elegy: to odium and despair

Psalm 139: 7-8 "Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there."

**an elegy: to odium and despair**

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my lord, my beloved unholy master of this ghostly realm,  
what sweet sultry twine have thee enslaved me within?

-

_but, thou art the Empress of these worming souls!  
__thy palace rests in the white-washed sepulchers,  
__a fine bastion of decaying elegance marred with age,  
__where the moth powders to cinders and sky weeps smoke,  
__where the black rose curls its petals and chips to dust!  
__hail! the Empress of the Dead!_

-

what a devilish scheme thee entrance my psyche within,  
that I may reign over specters and still be thy harlot!

-

dost thou realize the scars thee have left with each nightly . . .  
**? harvest ?** thee reap bloody pleas and sow a crop of ruins  
watering it daintily with purrs of assurance and urging vanities . . .

_-_

_you are the beauty of the grave, Astarte!_

-

what false accolades thee cast as fickle dice upon the floor!  
i'm walled unto suicidal cycles and draining liqueur memoirs  
of a sovereign pasty soul once burning with fiery passion,  
now wholly drunken within self-created crucifixions!

-

_. . . escape . . ._

-

is but a breath haunting the twilight horizon,  
a fair phantom swooping between the broken crags of nails  
ripped upon the acid foundation of this humble abode _(smothered)  
_with the bloody iniquities of late hushed pardons and Rosary beads  
as the deep shadow's cloud overwhelms a prayer's licking vigil!

-

the thick aura of obscurity has seized the barren night's starry host –  
strings of pearls that even this Pariah once cast muted hymns unto.

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oh! **C**urse the morn my form was fashioned! **C**urse this unraveling vessel!  
'tis a torturous routine my soul hast sought to cling itself to for perpetuity;  
to linger in vain for daylight, yet, never view the wails of a birthing dawn!

-

(just a candle flickers against the seeping gloom, its wax searing my flesh)

-

a simple vigil exists as an indian gift granted to the miserable wretches,  
who crave death, who blister palms in search for it as veiled treasure.

-

_sighs_ (my own?) caress the flame _to-and-fro_,  
filling my body instead of victuals,  
& wanting groans pour from my pores as a bountiful fountain!

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emptiness!

-

no . . . serenity (like a dove upon the salty shores)  
no . . . tender rest (as a babe at his mother's breast)  
no . . . sweet silence (at the reverent moment of eternal slumber)

-

ALWAYS! 

-

turmoil rivaling the grand tsunamis and tunnels of beastly wind!  
the dust cooks my flesh with maggots and molding scabs,  
& I, a Pariah, smear the ending of days with saline trails and ash

(one who hast made love to Death does not return to marry Life)

-

am I a great sea monster, the Leviathan of ancient eras, or Behemoth,  
that I must be walled within harsh concrete, locked, caged, guarded  
with the crumbs of satisfaction that I remain higher than shells of creatures?

-

(a soothing breath ignites the flame . . . and it burns with might!)

-

anxiety freezes my nerves in paralyzation, eyes upon the flame!  
hast a kindred phantom glided unto my realm of weeping ghosts?  
hast it entered to mock the joyful sorrow I seek in unrelenting pain?  
the air is swollen with the perfume of jasmine and the white lilies,  
yet this broken piece in limbo between dawn and dusk still wavers . . .

-

oh imperceptible presence (dost I know thee?),  
I loathe this very existence –

-

e.v.e.r.y.

pant

and

breath

-

i take with the frank bitterness of mine own soul . . .  
oh, what a base charlatan art I! Vile! Pathetic!

-

& i knew thee once . . . scented the honey of thy being . . .

-

traitor!

-

thee cloaked me with ivory flesh and veins & thou knit,  
aye! KNIT! my form with skeletal relics and delicate sinews!

-

whilst thou shatter this clay form? turn me to dust once again?  
my, what a double-edge sword thee wield!  
in guilt thee cried !woe! unto the fallen angel,  
the wings shredded upon the altar of innocence,  
whose body melts within the shadowed veil of sinful desire;  
my core was carved with iniquity and saliva, with glass and odium,  
into the masked slave, the graceful harlot, of thy grandest nemesis . . .

-

how dare thee approach my realm!  
thee, who forsook me to drown within the depths of affliction,  
why didst thou not allot my essence to pass serenely, secretly,  
from the womb of my mother unswervingly into the mausoleum!

-

Reply!

counter such accusations – challenges of thy supposed righteousness!

Reply!

Reply!

Reply!

-

why hast thou disowned me within the wasteland of no return?  
where deep shadow and gloom form the figures of my comrades . . .  
coward . . . thou ne'er possessed the courage to bear this cross,  
to exist in the marshes, the Gehenna, of night and disorder . . .

. . . where light is but another shade of darkness . . .

& the candle is but a hallucination that fades to **grey**!

-

**-**

**-**

so why dost my heart yearn for thee, &

colorblind pupils stray to the tunnel

I plunged through eras (_days_?) before?

-

-

-

_. . . escape . . . _

_-_

_-_

_-_

perhaps 'tis another word, for **redemption** . . .

& so, i dare to climb to the place from whence I came.

**--o--**

**Please, review. I shall return the favor within the week.**


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